On the Verge of April
The twigs of March drip,
and dangle ~ late in the day,
birdsong returns
as if from the dead.
New veins leach in the leaf
sap-sweet offerings.
Earth worms curl in oracle rings,
rise up from the mud,
and nurse the wet soil
as it gives birth.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
